


to sing of such things

by alexiley



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28498125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexiley/pseuds/alexiley
Summary: Jon wakes up alone in the safehouse (don’t worry it’s not as bad as it sounds).
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 155





	to sing of such things

Jon wakes up alone.

The sheets are still warm to the touch where he brushes a hand out in search of another. It’s dark, the shadows deepening and shrinking back from the path of pale silvery light pooling in through the window and over the empty space beside him.

_ 3:19 am _ .

Jon doesn’t even have to glance at the glaring red of the alarm clock’s face propped up on the bedside table, it comes to him with barely a thought at all. He hates it, just a little. Mostly he’s busy rubbing the sleep from his eyes and shoving the comforter away. His feet touch the floor, and it’s not quite cold to the touch, but it’s enough to send a shiver up his spine.

Maybe he should be a bit more panicked, a bit more harried as he steps out of the bedroom, dragging the heavy comforter along with him. But then again, this seems to happen most nights since they made it to Daisy’s cabin nearly a week ago. The first time, it was much more of a shock; Jon still remembers the sheer, biting terror with vivid clarity and the way his footfalls seemed to echo in the hollow space of the cabin around him. Now they’re much clearer, pronounced, as he gently pushes the front door open and lets the cool night air rush in.

He finds him outside, sitting on the steps with his face raised to the stars.

Jon hesitates, only for a moment, a fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips before he ventures further out, still pulling the comforter behind him. He lifts it up and places it gently around Martin’s shoulders, taking a moment to lean down and press a kiss to the top of his head. Martin doesn’t respond but to reach back for Jon’s hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling him down to sit beside him. 

When Jon looks up at him, Martin’s eyes are a touch glassy, a film set over them that hazily reflects the stars’ light back out into the stillness of the very early morning. Jon squeezes his hand in the quiet.

Martin doesn’t speak, and Jon doesn’t press. They just sit together under the weighty comforter, hands clasped with Jon brushing his thumb over the back of Martin’s hand. Every movement, a gentle reminder.  _ I’m here, I’m here. _

It may be hours later when Martin finally lets out a shuddering breath, and all at once, the tenseness in his shoulders melts away. He brings a hand up, moving his glasses up and out of the way while he scrubs a hand over his face, bringing back the flush of warmth to his cheeks. He then lists to the side, his head coming to rest on Jon’s shoulder and burrowing in there against the bare skin where Jon’s jumper (Martin’s really) has slipped down. Jon sighs gently and presses his cheek into Martin’s mess of hair.

“Good morning, darling.” There’s a slight teasing edge to his words.

Martin huffs in response, and Jon can feel it against his skin; he smiles softly, pulling the blanket further around them.

The hand that isn’t intertwined with Jon’s finds its way around Jon’s waist and brushes gingerly beneath the jumper, resting against Jon’s skin there.

Jon hisses out immediately. “Christ, your hands are freezing, Martin!”

Martin laughs quietly, eyes closed gently against Jon’s neck, but goes to draw his hand away. Jon catches it before it gets far and brings both of Martin’s hands to his lips, pressing a generous amount of kisses to his knuckles.

Martin hums softly, ducking his head to kiss Jon’s collarbone in return. “So which’ll it be tonight?” 

Jon pauses for a moment, lifting his searching gaze to the stars, before freeing one hand from the confines of the blanket and pointing up and a bit to the right.

“There. Andromeda.”

Each star seems to twinkle at the movement of Jon’s finger as he traces the outline of the constellation, and Martin nods his head as much as he can from his position. “I see it.” he pauses a moment, sighing contentedly. “Tell me about her?”

Jon smiles and squeezes Martin’s hand in his before his voice lilts softly into the story of Andromeda and how she was chained to a rock overhang, awaiting the moment when the sea monster, Cetel, would consume her, all because of her mother’s pride and stubbornness. He recounts how she was saved by Perseus, brandishing the same sword against the monster he’d used to slay Medusa. Jon gets lost in the words, in the story, but it’s not at all like the paralyzing, encroaching fear that comes from reading a statement. It’s warm, and it’s real, and it’s  _ him _ .

While Jon talks, Martin’s arm finds its way around Jon’s waist again, twisting in the fabric of his own jumper. He draws his lips lightly against the line of Jon’s throat, humming his amusement when Jon’s breath hitches and he trails off mid-sentence.

“Y-you’re doing that on purpose,” Jon murmurs, trying to hide a shuddering breath behind a long-suffering sigh. 

“Maybe.” Martin punctuates the word with an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, eliciting another shaky exhale from Jon. “Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Jon swallows thickly. “Yeah.”

He can feel Martin’s languid smile just against his skin before he presses his lips there again, gently trailing kiss after kiss along Jon’s neck, his jawline, his chin. Jon hums at the sensation and curls his free hand in Martin’s hair, laying kisses of his own to the crown of his head until he can’t reach anymore and presses them instead to his forehead.

Martin’s kisses are unhurried and unbearably soft in a way that leaves an ache in Jon’s chest, one that doesn’t seem to be assuaged no matter how closely he pulls Martin to him. His lips brush over every scar and every blemish on his skin with such care and dedication and love, acknowledging everything he’s been through, and seeing him. Seeing him. And it’s all so, so much.

A single tear slips down Jon’s cheek, catching against Martin’s lips.

Martin pulls away abruptly, his brow furrowed and his hand instinctively tightening around Jon’s. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Jon tilts his head to the side just so and huffs a breath that sounds a step away from a sob itself. “Oh no, nothing. Nothing, it’s just…” Jon takes a quavering breath, smiles fondly. “It’s just  _ you _ , Martin. Just you.”

Except ‘just’ is the wrong word. It sounds cheap, falls so far short of the vastness of what Jon wants to say. There is nothing of Martin that fits in the word ‘just’.

“It’s all of you.”

Martin’s shoulders visibly sag beneath the comforter with the shuddering fondness of a sigh, his eyes suddenly bright with tears of his own. “Oh, Jon.”

He leans forward, cupping Jon’s face in the warmth of his hands. His nose trails softly against Jon’s cheek before, with another fluttering breath, he closes the gap.

The kiss leaves every bone of Jon’s body singing.

**Author's Note:**

> hhhh them am i right?
> 
> anyway thank you so much for reading,, kudos and comments sustain me :)
> 
> much love and happy new year 💜💜
> 
> my [tumblr](tumblr.com/blog/alexiley)


End file.
